


i want you in my arms again

by hlundqvists



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Miscommunication, New York Rangers, World Cup of Hockey, summer time style angst!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 09:28:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8200066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hlundqvists/pseuds/hlundqvists
Summary: Hank is somewhere else in his head. Marc wants him to come back. or, a summer of miscommunication and worry.





	

**Author's Note:**

> listen, i couldn't not do this. i needed to write something after crying about team sweden and this is what happened. i'd say sorry, but as usual, i'm really not.
> 
> s/o to lauren for looking this over and correcting my mistakes. also, thank you to lauren for helping me find a title for this fic.
> 
> title taken from "lonely summer nights" by stray cats.

It’s a hard summer to get through.

Whether by chance or by design, the time that Hank and Marc spend together is far and few between.

It’s the first time in years that they spend more time apart than together during the offseason. Hank had left New York for Sweden faster than Marc could blink, almost faster than Marc could even say goodbye.

The silence of Marc’s phone says more than Hank could before leaving.

Marc tries to take it all in stride, but it’s difficult. He knows Hank needs to be away for a while, needs to clear his head.

But, he can’t help wishing that Hank had slowed down and asked him to go too.

//

Days pass and the only texts Marc gets from Hank are simple and short, telling him that he’s landed safely and is at his parents’ house.

Marc swallows against the feeling of being left behind and texts Hank back, _Tell them I miss them. I love you, babe_.

Hank’s answer is short, _I will. Me too_.

Marc rubs his thumb over his phone screen, staring at those last two words. He holds onto them tightly.

//

It takes some time to plan but they do manage to find time to spend together; Marc goes to Sweden and spends a few days there. 

Hank looks less exhausted than he did before leaving New York and Marc wants to wrap himself up in Hank’s arms, press close and never leave. There’s some tension in the air, something that Marc can’t find the words to explain. Hank doesn’t seem open to talking about whatever it is, and Marc doesn’t push. 

They hold on to each other and Marc steals as many kisses as he can. Hank gives them willingly, but something still feels off. When Hank takes him to bed and fucks him, it somehow feels less. 

Hank is somewhere else in his head. Marc wants him to come back.

//

The summer drags on. Hank winds up staying in Sweden for most it, while Marc spends time at home in Thunder Bay with his brothers. Hank has a busy schedule; practicing with Frölunda, spending time with Joel to film commercials, charity events, prepping for the World Cup. 

He has a loaded schedule, something he keeps reminding Marc of in their texts. Marc gets it, he does, but that doesn’t stop him from spending a lot of time staring at his phone, waiting for it to ring.

//

Hank calls him one night, late but not too late, and Marc has to take a few quick deep breaths before answering.

“Hey, babe.”

“Hej, älskling.”

Marc’s heart skips a beat or two and he wishes he could wrap himself up in the way Hank says those two words. It feels like it’s been years since they talked and Marc absorbs every second of their conversation. Hank is actually _talking_ , telling Marc about his days and what he’s been up to and Marc doesn’t want it to end.

He gets lost in the way Hank’s voice sounds in his ear, the smooth way every word forms on Hank’s lips. It’s soothing and fills Marc’s heart, and it’s without shame that he leans back against the bed, eyes closed, as he lets Hank’s voice wash over him, one hand sliding down his body to slip inside his boxers, palming his cock slowly.

He tries to keep his breathing in check and his voice steady as he strokes himself slowly. He can’t stop his breath from audibly hitching as he thumbs the head of his cock while Hank says his name softly. 

“Marc, are you—” 

Hank doesn’t finish the question. He knows the answer. Marc whines softly, grip tightening on himself as he hears the faint sound of a belt clinking open and Hank’s breath starting to quicken soon after.

They don’t say much, choosing instead to listen to each other, to focus on those hitched inhales and low moans that escape with each stroke.

Marc is more vocal, his breath catching more, Hank’s name falling from his lips like a prayer, over and over and over. He can hear Hank’s breathing get faster, can pinpoint the exact moment when Hank is going to come. He tightens his grip on himself, pretends that it’s Hank’s hand on him, can almost feel Hank’s touch and comes with a low cry of Hank’s name.

“ _H-Hank_ , fuck, love you,” Marc gasps, stroking himself through it, whimpering softly as Hank gets louder, groaning as he comes and says Marc’s name so, so sweetly.

They breathe for a few minutes, catching their breath and calming together.

Marc feels better for a moment, but then Hank is talking and it doesn’t sound right.

“I have to go,” says Hank, his voice no longer holding that sweetness it had minutes before. “I love you, babe. I’ll talk to you later.”

Marc stares at his phone screen for a long while after Hank hangs up. He’s never felt more lost with Hank before.

//

The weeks pass and their phone calls get shorter. It gets harder to sync up their schedules as the World Cup gets closer and Hank gets even busier preparing for it.

Marc texts Hank in the middle of the day. He’s sitting alone on the porch of his parents’ house, a book on his lap and a lonely ache in his chest. He can’t stop his fingers from reaching for his phone and typing out the words he’s been holding back.

 _Come home. Before the tournament starts, just come home to me for a little bit_.

Hank’s reply comes hours later.

_I can’t. There’s not enough time. It wouldn’t be fair to you._

Marc has to take several deep breaths and relax his grip on his phone. It takes some time to word a response.

They don’t fight, but there’s tension between them again.

Marc hates it.

//

Marc watches every game that he can catch. He makes sure to tune in for every game featuring Team Sweden. He watches Hank carefully every moment that he’s on the ice. His fingers twitch to pick up his phone and call Hank, especially with the news of Hank being sick breaking. He holds back. He doesn’t want to distract Hank with his worries.

Hank doesn’t reach out to him, either.

Marc can’t help but let his worries boil over, though. He doesn’t text Hank, but Zucc. He knows Zucc will answer and Zucc doesn’t ask too many questions when Marc asks him for updates on Hank when he can manage it.

It helps a little, but not by much. 

//

Marc watches as Sweden loses to Europe in overtime. He can’t keep quiet now. He just can’t, not when he sees the defeated way Hank’s shoulders slump, not when he knows exactly how Hank is berating himself inside his head for not being fast enough to stop the goal. He can’t stay silent when he knows exactly what is going on in Hank’s head and he can’t physically be there to give Hank the comfort that he needs.

He grabs his phone and texts Hank, his message simple as possible.

_Please come home to me?_

Hank’s reply, when it comes, is even shorter.

_Yes._

//

Marc picks Hank up at the airport. Hank looks exhausted and Marc worries more. They drive home in silence, but Hank reaches for Marc’s hand and grasps it tight, lacing his fingers between Marc’s, refusing to let go.

Marc squeezes his hand, his chest suddenly feeling tight. All he wants is to get Hank home.

When they get home and Hank’s bags have been dropped to the floor, that’s when Hank finally breaks. He grabs Marc by the hips and pulls him close, breath shuddering and shaky, his lips against Marc’s neck and arms circling tight around his waist.

“I’m sorry,” Hank whispers against Marc’s neck, voice so small and fragile. “I’m so sorry, älskling. I’m sorry for everything. I’m so _sorry_.”

Marc tries to hush him, fingers stroking through Hank’s hair softly as he kisses Hank’s temple.

“It’s okay, Hank,” he whispers, “I get it. This wasn’t the best summer to face.” 

His fingers rub at Hank’s scalp, soothing and slow, as he continues gently, “You don’t have to face this kind of thing alone, babe. I’m here. I’ve always been here. I love you, Henrik. I’ll always be here to help you when times get hard. You know that.”

Hank exhales shakily, and nods, and keeps holding tight to Marc.

Marc smiles, tired and soft, and gently leads Hank to bed.

//

They take their time together, almost as if both of them are trying to make up for all the missed chances over the summer.

Hank is gentle and thorough, taking care to brush his fingers over every inch of Marc’s skin, like he’s memorizing Marc’s body all over again. Marc whines softly, but he doesn’t push Hank to go faster. He wants this to last as long as possible, too. 

He’s missed this.

He’s missed Hank’s lips on his body. He’s missed Hank’s hands on him; the way Hank touches his cock, grip loose and tight all at once, and the way Hank likes to brush teasing kisses to the tip, tongue tasting the little bits of pre-come that gather so quickly under Hank’s touch. 

He’s missed the way Hank so carefully takes his time in pressing two fingers inside Marc, stretching him open with gentle thrusts, making him gasp and squirm and softly beg for more. 

But more than anything, he’s missed the way it feels when Hank finally lines himself up and sinks into Marc’s body, making him feel full and complete. It’s so easy. It’s like coming home in a completely different way.

Hank doesn’t move at first, only buries himself as deep as possible in Marc and kisses him firm and sweet. Marc whimpers, pressing into the kiss, and tangles his fingers in Hank’s hair. They breathe each other in for a few minutes, lips brushing and hearts beating almost in time. Hank soaks up the warmth of Marc stretched around his cock, and Marc savors finally feeling so full with Hank’s cock inside him.

When Hank finally moves, they both gasp together. Then, laugh; the sound sweet and filling the air between them. Hank kisses Marc again, still laughing a little, and starts to move slow and easy, taking his time. Marc cards his fingers through Hank’s hair and rolls his hips up to match Hank’s slow thrusts.

Neither of them rushes the pace. They move together, moaning and laughing and exchanging kisses; it’s sweet and gentle and loving. It’s what they’ve both needed all summer.

Marc’s orgasm builds fast. He comes with a sweet, high moan of Hank’s name. Hank whimpers gently and kisses him, swallowing that sound, and keeps rocking into him, taking a little bit longer but then he’s coming, buried deep inside Marc. He shudders and relaxes, dropping his body down to cover Marc’s. Marc welcomes the weight of Hank on top of him. He feels more grounded than ever.

Marc kisses Hank’s hair and strokes his back lazily, murmuring over and over, “I love you. I love you so much.”

Hank inhales against Marc’s neck, kisses his skin, and whispers the words back.

“I love you, too. I love you more than anything.”

The words sound sweet and perfect, just the way Marc’s been waiting to hear them said all summer.

He holds on tight to Hank, and Hank doesn’t let go.


End file.
